Malleable Metal
by plasticworld
Summary: Gates finds that what she thought was a simple debriefing is really much, much bigger. The "dragon" issue is confronted, as well as an order she is unable to refuse. Will the new information be enough for her to bring Beckett and Castle back to the precinct? Runs in conjuction with Dotting the I's and Crossing the T's, but is separate from those two stories. Spoilers!


**A/N: **This story takes place the Monday following 4x23, assuming the final action (rooftop fight through Maddox vs. Mr. Smith) took place on a Saturday. As a point of interest, Commissioner Kelly, Chief of Detectives Pulaski, and Captain Charles "Charlie" Campisi are all real people, in their actual positions. However, the words I've put in their mouths are entirely my own creation, and serve no other purpose than to lend "credibility" to this story.

I apologize for the length of the story, but as I was writing it, I couldn't find a natural break. I tend to be long-winded as it is . . .

* * *

Malleable Metal

Captain Victoria "Iron" Gates stood before the lavatory in the women's restroom, her hard brown eyes critically analyzing her appearance in the mirror. From what she could tell there were no physical signs of nervousness, no outward tells of apprehension. Her hair looked smooth, her mouth freshly made up, and her gray suit impeccably pressed. All told, she looked like she was ready to face a legion of press reporters rather than her superiors.

I do _not_ want to go in there, she admitted to herself, and for a moment a flicker of regret flashed in her serious deep-set eyes. There isn't any easy way to explain what happened—about the case or afterwards. I wish things had gone differently. A fleeting twinge of annoyance flared before she instantly controlled it. I _wish_ Beckett and Esposito had followed procedure and kept me abreast of the developments of the case!

Her brows furrowed into a frown as she considered her lead detective. When I first read over her personnel file just after my promotion, I was impressed. Not only because she passed her detective's exam in record time, but because she made good right away. Every citation, every commendation was well-deserved. It was apparent Montgomery valued her skills not only as a general detective, but as a leader. I have to admit, with the exception of attempting to run her own private investigations into her shooting case and her mother's cold case, Beckett has exhibited tremendous leadership skills. Ryan and Esposito respect her. She paused in her thoughts as a picture of Richard Castle flashed through her mind. Shaking her head to banish it, she mentally added as an afterthought, And I suppose Beckett has managed to keep her pet on as tight a leash as she can.

But despite how much she liked and respected Katherine Beckett on a professional level, Gates could not condone or tolerate her blatant disregard for the rules. And so she had done what was required of her: she had called Detectives Beckett and Esposito on the carpet for their grievous behavior.

I don't regret doing it, she assured herself as she stepped away from the sink and headed for the door. In fact, if I had it to do over again I wouldn't alter anything—except maybe allowing the team to investigate the homicide in the first place. But I do really truly regret not talking Beckett out of her resignation.

As she exited the restroom she cast a quick look in the direction of the bullpen. It was relatively quiet for a Monday morning, but she wasn't concerned. In some way the somber atmosphere matched her mood. She noted in passing that Beckett's desk looked somehow in accord with the blank, white murder board. Although it was hard to put into words, Gates could sense that the entire squad room felt bereft of two of its family members.

Stepping up to the elevator, she pressed the UP button and waited patiently for the doors to open. When they did, she gracefully stepped inside and selected the floor which housed the larger conference rooms reserved for the Chief of Detectives or other department bigwigs for conducting business. It could be worse, she admitted to herself with a shake of the head, I could have been summoned down to One Police Plaza. At least they've come to me. Willing herself to remain calm, she watched as one by one the numbers of the floors lit up as they passed. A half-minute later the doors parted and she was there.

"'Courage, Camille, courage,'" she quoted softly under her breath, "Get this behind you." Then lifting her head, she strode purposefully down the corridor and, reaching the Empire State room, knocked.

The door to the conference room was opened by an attractive, slender woman who looked like she was on the wrong side of forty-five with salt-and-pepper hair and strikingly beautiful gray eyes. Gates recognized her immediately as the department's legal advisor, Megan McIverson.

So much for this meeting being about the case, she mused to herself, filing the information away. As she entered the room her eyebrows rose involuntarily as her eyes widened in surprise. I expected Chief Pulaski and someone from IA, but Commissioner Kelly? She tried unsuccessfully to keep from gawking. The only time she had been in Commissioner Kelly's company since her promotion to captain had been at a luncheon nearly eight months before. Then they hadn't even exchanged pleasantries. Swallowing convulsively, Gates felt her stomach heave and had the unnatural urge to bolt from the room. Instead, she forced her gaze away from his composed face and scanned the rest of the room.

What the hell is going on? Legal, IA, Chief Pulaski, Commissioner Kelly, _and_ what's-his-name from the OCTF (Organized Crime Task Force)? And those young-looking men in the non-descript blue suits might as well hang a banner announcing the FBI has arrived. Unless I miss my guess, the thin woman with the pale blonde hair wearing the black pantsuit sitting beside Chief Pulaski is representing the CIA. Her eyes narrowed as her mind kicked into a higher gear. This isn't just about Beckett and Esposito or the case. This is about something _bigger_.

"Thank you for coming, Captain." Chief Pulaski greeted her warmly, indicating a chair at the end of the table. The other people in the room were seated on the opposite end, giving her the distinct feeling she was not only in the "hot seat" but actually on trial. "I believe you know Commissioner Kelly," Pulaski continued, indicating him with a slight tilt of the head, "This is Roger Stahl from Organized Crime, Megan McIverson from our legal department, and of course you know Charlie Campisi from Internal Affairs."

It didn't escape Gates' notice he didn't bother to introduce the FBI agents or the woman in the black pantsuit. Taking the time to make eye contact with each person, she gave one brief, curt nod. Then, pursing her lips, she took a deep breath and opened with a question. "If you don't mind my asking, what is this all about? I was under the impression I was to debrief you on—"

Pulaski held up his hand to stop her. "I understand you have questions, Captain," he said, his voice relaxed and conversational, "but if you don't mind, we'd like to bring you into the picture first. After we've explained why we've asked for this meeting, I'll be happy to answer any questions you still have. Fair enough?"

Gates considered him for the span of a heartbeat before she replied, "Fair enough."

"Good."

There was a brief delay, as though the Chief of Detectives was mentally rearranging what he wanted to cover next. Looking down at his legal-size notepad, he allowed himself a small sigh before he spoke again. "Captain, I understand that over the course of a particular homicide investigation, several of your detectives—"

"And Mr. Castle," McIverson broke in, her steely gray eyes flickering over to Gates' face.

"Thank you," Pulaski acknowledged then resumed, "your detectives and Mr. Castle unearthed leads which proved to be connected to the late Captain Roy Montgomery. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she answered guardedly, unsure where this line of questioning was headed. "Montgomery's widow reported a burglary at her residence. Someone—the homicide victim specifically—broke into the home office in an attempt to retrieve files."

As a brief silence fell in the room, Commissioner Kelly, Chief Pulaski and Captain Campisi exchanged looks, the FBI agents remained stoic, while the woman in the black pantsuit merely stifled a yawn. Gates didn't miss it. What the hell is going on? she wondered again, as the foreign feeling of apprehension swept through her. Suddenly she felt herself sweating through her designer suit and prayed fervently her nerves wouldn't show. Where's that iron control you're so proud of, she taunted herself. You're treading shark-infested waters, and with IA here, they may be out for blood. If you show any sign of weakness, the feeding frenzy will start.

"Captain, how well did you know your predecessor?" The question came from her former supervisor, Charlie Campisi who was looking at her intently, his eyes shadowed beneath prominently thick, gray brows.

"I didn't know him personally," she stated, "but by reputation Captain Montgomery was known as a man who ran a tight ship, got results, and usually managed to stay within budget." Although he didn't run nearly as tight a ship as he should have, she added to herself, her mouth quirking up at one corner before she forced it back into a straight line. "After working in the 12th precinct for nearly a year now, I can tell you the men and women under his command have only the highest praise and respect for him."

Campisi nodded as though her words confirmed something he already knew. "That seems to be the general word around 1PP as well."

The FBI men exchanged careful looks as Megan McIverson made a note on her notepad.

"Roy Montgomery was not only an excellent officer, but a good man," Chief Pulaski volunteered. "However, he wasn't perfect."

That statement piqued Gates' interest. Sitting forward slightly, she leaned her elbows on the table and sharpened her focus on the chief. "I was under the impression none of us are, Sir."

He laughed ruefully. "You're right about that, Captain. A sad fact, but true."

"Only where Captain Montgomery is concerned," Campisi asserted, "his past sins could be revisited to the third or fourth generation."

Gates arched her eyebrows. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

Campisi looked over to Pulaski, who in turn looked over at Commissioner Kelly. He was silent a long moment, one so long she had the uneasy feeling her entire future with the force was dependent on what he might say. Then, after the quickest of glances at the department's legal counsel, he spoke for the first time.

"Captain Gates, I know this meeting must seem somewhat confusing to you, and I apologize for that. Under normal circumstances the suspension of one officer and the resignation of another wouldn't warrant this type of meeting. Normally your report would be filed in the Internal Affairs office and paperwork would be drawn up to make Detective Beckett's resignation official." His voice was non-confrontational and smooth, his eyes direct, and his demeanor calm. "But I'm sure by now you can tell this isn't an ordinary situation. The fact of the matter is your homicide case—and the way it was handled—has made a very big splash in the wrong pond."

Drawing in her breath, Gates sat back. I _knew_ there was a reason Beckett went off on her own with this case, she fumed silently. Why the hell couldn't she have trusted me with her leads? Why did she have to turn it into a private war against her sniper? Her eyes darted over to Roger Stahl who was watching her with a keen intelligence which was both reassuring and unnerving. Resisting the urge to shiver, she redirected her eyes on the commissioner and waited.

"Captain," Kelly continued as though there had been no lull at all, "we have discussed the matter thoroughly and have come to the decision that you need to be fully briefed on the Montgomery situation. But," he paused, holding up a hand as she sat forward once more and opened her mouth to speak, "you should be aware that what you are about to hear is for your ears only. Only the people in this room, with the exception of one other—"

"Two," Megan McIverson inserted, her eyes meeting his, her mouth curving into a natural smile.

He smiled in response. "Yes. Only _two_ other people are in possession of all the facts. I believe it goes without saying your discretion is required."

"Of course," she said, still trying to make sense of it all.

"We'll need you to sign a document to that effect," McIverson informed her, passing a printed form and a pen to her.

The slender blonde woman and the FBI agents leaned forward in tandem. Apparently her signature was a matter of city-wide, national, and international importance. Taking the time to read over the legalese first, Gates felt sure she was standing on the precipice of her career and instinctively knew if she were to misstep now the results would be catastrophic for her. Picking up the pen McIverson had provided, she scrawled her name on the signature line and passed the document back to her. There was a collective sigh of relief from the police administrators, federal agents and Captain Gates. Only the woman in the black pantsuit remained unmoved.

"Good," Commissioner Kelly praised as Megan McIverson filed the document in her briefcase. "Let's continue, then. Chief Pulaski, if you will?"

He nodded. "Of course, sir." Turning to address Gates, he folded his hands on the table and began, "One of the things I've always admired about you, Captain, is your tenacity. When you started on the force things weren't easy for you. Not only were you dealing with prejudice based on your ethnic background and race, but you were also handling gender-based discrimination. And yet, despite those obstacles you have risen through the ranks the hard way, earning the respect of your senior officers. You are to be commended for your unimpeachable record."

Behind her shrewd brown eyes Gates was filing information away knowing anyone who opened a briefing with flattery had only bad news to give. Surreptitiously she placed her palms on the conference table to brace herself for the rest of it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded. "I'm sure you can remember what kinds of antics were going on back in those days. Around the same time you entered the force, Roy Montgomery was working his first cases with his partner, Detective John Raglan."

She straightened in her seat. "I'm familiar with Raglan's file," she admitted, "He had a number of incidents IA had to investigate."

"Right," Campisi confirmed, a light shining in the recesses of his eyes as he looked at her.

Without comment, Pulaski resumed his discourse on Captain Montgomery's history with the NYPD. Giving the full details of what transpired in that alleyway so many years ago when Johanna Beckett was killed, he painted a picture of a group of young rookie cops who made one mistake after another. Although he made sure to emphasize that the NYPD looked on the issue of kidnapping and ransoming alleged criminals with nothing but shame and abhorrence Gates was intelligent enough to know the expressed sentiment was mostly for the benefit of the Feds, the woman in the black pantsuit, and particularly the lawyer. The NYPD might not be proud now of the kinds of things that had happened back in the Seventies but, the fact was, back in the day, the Powers-That-Be had seen nothing wrong with them.

When Pulaski reached the part of the back story involving Johanna Beckett, Gates stopped him to ask a question. "So, for my own clarification, are you saying Johanna Beckett, a lawyer representing Joe Pugotti, the man Raglan and Montgomery framed for the crime they committed, was in that same alleyway, digging around for clues? What did she hope to find after all those years?"

Pulaski answered, his voice soul-weary and sad. "No one knows what the lead was she was following. But what is known is that someone very powerful felt threatened by her investigation, threatened enough to hire a professional killer to eliminate her."

His words hung in the air oppressively like a summer heat wave in the Deep South. For a long minute only the sound of breathing could be heard.

"When you took over Montgomery's position here you obviously reviewed the personnel files of your detectives. What was your initial read on Detective Beckett?"

"I thought her one of the most promising detectives on the entire force," she answered immediately. "At the time I had no idea why she had been the target for a sniper's bullet. Hell, I still don't know why! I'm assuming, based on what you've been telling me so far, she dug too deeply into her mother's murder. I think that dedication—although it's against every regulation I hold dear—speaks volumes about Detective Beckett's character."

The FBI men exchanged glances with each other again while Megan McIverson shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I agree," Pulaski informed her. "I've been following Detective Beckett's career for the better part of ten years, Captain. When she first took her exams for detective, I wasn't sure she was cut out for the job. Montgomery urged me to take a chance on her. He saw something in her character as well—dedication, yes, but it was more than that. He described it at the time as a strong sense of justice tempered by a rare compassion and empathy for the relatives of the victims."

Nodding, she agreed, "I would say his assessment of her was accurate."

Commissioner Kelly leaned forward, his eyes seeking hers. "Then would you also say that, with the exception of this last homicide investigation, Detective Beckett has proven herself to be one of your top detectives?"

"Yes," she said firmly without hesitation. "But I would like to say that the first day I met Detective Beckett—when she returned from her medical leave of absence—I warned her I would not allow her to investigate her own shooting. Dedication to the job is one thing, sir; stubbornness and insubordination are something else."

"I agree," he said cryptically.

Suddenly realizing she might have said too much at the wrong time, she frowned. Although she felt completely justified in saying what she did, she had a feeling she had overstepped her bounds. Falling silent, she turned her gaze back to the Chief of Detectives who was watching her intently.

"Captain Gates, as you said earlier," Pulaski began then paused long enough to force a smile before resuming, "nobody is perfect. I'm not here to make excuses for Detective Beckett's actions. They were wrong and you were well within your rights to discipline her. That she felt the need to resign is unfortunate. Hopefully that will be remedied in short order." He cleared his throat then changed the subject. "We know Detective Beckett spent years pouring over her mother's case. And, to her credit, she never bought Raglan's explanation of a mugging gone wrong. We also know somewhere along the way she hit a stone wall. How could she not? Raglan, Montgomery, McAllister and the others involved in the cover-up made sure there weren't leads to find. And we know that, at some point in the early tenure of her career, she more or less let the case go."

Gates arched her eyebrows, clearly not believing Beckett had ever _really_ let the case go. After all, she told herself, if I joined the NYPD for the opportunity to crack my mother's homicide, I wouldn't stop at anything until I found her killer. I may bury my interests and work off the clock, but I would still keep at it.

She returned her attention to Pulaski who was saying, "And that's when Richard Castle entered the story."

At the writer's name (and the poor pun about entering the story) Gates flinched as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over her soul. Her chin lifted and her serious brown eyes burned. Eternally grateful for her African-American heritage and skin color, she said a fervent prayer of thanksgiving that her flushed cheeks weren't noticeable to the other occupants in the room.

"Richard Castle," she breathed, it coming out like a hiss, "is nothing but a pain in the rear! Honestly, I'm not sure why he's here. And frankly, I don't understand why Montgomery allowed him into the precinct in the first place."

"Mr. Castle's involvement with the NYPD and the 12th precinct in particular is not on the table for discussion," Megan McIverson broke in. "There are legal issues involved, Captain Gates. Please be very careful what you say about him."

"Yes," Commissioner Kelly seconded, "Richard Castle is a _close_ personal friend of Mayor Weldon's." He smiled sweetly before adding in a slightly amused tone, "And mine."

Properly chastised, Gates demurred, "Of course. I apologize."

Looking away, she managed to catch the woman in the black pantsuit's expression. It was one of veiled interest, as though the subject of Richard Castle was the most important one under discussion. Then, sensing she was being observed, she dropped a mask over her face.

Pulaski picked up from where he had been interrupted, "Richard Castle began shadowing Detective Beckett after he was brought in as a consultant on a case involving a series of murders based on his books. After signing a waver with our legal department," he said, beginning to explain then he paused to send a smile McIverson's way, "he was granted permission to ride along with Detectives Beckett, Ryan and Esposito under the supervision of Captain Montgomery. By the end of May 2009, Mr. Castle had decided—on his own initiative, not at the behest of Detective Beckett—to look into Johanna Beckett's murder."

Gates drew in her breath. I knew he was capable of stupid things but I never suspected he would be that insensitive to Beckett! She must have been furious!

Unaware she was momentarily sidetracked, Pulaski surged on, describing first the new information Castle had obtained about the stab wounds inflicted on Johanna Beckett which clearly showed she had been targeted for murder. He then proceeded to brief Gates about the Dick Coonan Case and the connection between it and Johanna Beckett's murder. As detail after detail was reviewed and examined, she drew more and more solemn.

At length, the woman in the black pantsuit spoke for the first time. "Dick Coonan had been on our radar for a while," she admitted slowly, making sure her words were understood. "We were aware of his drug trade as well as his other international interests. Although we were working with Interpol to build a case against him, proof was very hard to come by. Fortunately for us, Dick Coonan had his fingers in dozens of different pies." Pushing her long blonde hair off her shoulder, she continued, "And then he slipped up, Captain Gates. He murdered his own brother in the same city where he had murdered someone else, in the same jurisdiction as the first crime. Our hope was that the evidence would stick. Unfortunately, we didn't know about Mr. Castle's involvement with the case, nor his generosity in donating his own funds to arrange a 'hit' in order to smoke out who he believed to be behind Johanna Beckett's murder."

Pulaski coughed, successfully derailing the woman's speech. "It was also unfortunate Detective Beckett didn't realize Coonan was the killer _before _Mr. Castle sent his money off into oblivion."

Gates actually smirked at that.

"Not to worry," the blonde woman soothed, "Mr. Castle's money was refunded. The government saw to it. It was the very least we could do after Dick Coonan held him hostage and forced Detective Beckett to— "

"Beckett had to shoot Coonan to save Richard Castle's life?" Gates interrupted, her voice soft. Her eyes were deeply troubled as she looked from one face to another. She had known about the shooting in the precinct—the incident report had come to the IA department—but she hadn't been personally aware of the actual details. "I had no idea, no idea at all."

"Everything would have been fine had the investigation into Johanna Beckett's murder died with Coonan," Pulaski said quietly, "but almost a year later Raglan decided he couldn't live—or die, as the case happened to be—with the guilt any longer. He asked for a meeting with Detective Beckett."

"Detective Beckett brought Mr. Castle with her to the meeting," Campisi informed Gates, cutting in smoothly, "We believe Raglan was planning to reveal the cover-up, possibly even name names. Unfortunately, we'll never know what his intentions were; he was gunned down sitting opposite the detective and Mr. Castle in a diner booth. What we _can_ tell you is what was in Montgomery's report at the time. I'm not certain, but based on information we gathered shortly after the shooting, Montgomery showed up on the scene himself. Was it coincidence he was close to the diner at exactly the same time? We don't know."

That's a good point, Gates conceded. But if Raglan was assassinated with Montgomery being in the near proximity, why not kill him then as well? Holes, gentlemen, she addressed them silently. There are holes in your theory.

"As it turns out, the man responsible for killing John Raglan was an ex-military mercenary—Hal Lockwood. Ultimately Montgomery gave Detectives Beckett, Ryan and Esposito the green light to work the case." Campisi's eyes were troubled, as though he hadn't approved of—and actually regretted—Montgomery's decision. "Mr. Castle elected to remain on the investigating team as well."

"Yes," Pulaski picked up, then added, "Unfortunately, Detectives Ryan and Esposito were taken hostage by Lockwood and, according to the police report filed, tortured. It seems that once again, Mr. Castle's assistance proved to be an asset, Captain. When Detective Beckett and he breached the room, it was Mr. Castle who managed to subdue Lockwood."

Just when she didn't think she could take another shock, the chief delivered a gut-punch; Gates' face showed her shocked surprise. Just how the hell could I possibly be _this much_ out of the loop? How did I not _know_ Ryan and Esposito were tortured? Why didn't that appear in their personnel files? Did they receive counseling afterwards? And as for Castle—have I let my personal dislike for the man color my professional opinion of him? She dismissed the idea almost immediately. No. Even if he managed to stop Lockwood, he still shouldn't have been in that situation. If he hadn't subdued the man, Beckett would have.

After a brief silence she broached a question. "Sir," she began, addressing Pulaski, "Did Hal Lockwood give up his employer? Is that what this is all about?"

One of the FBI agents shook his head before pushing back from the table and standing. Then he started pacing, his hands together at the small of his back. Every pair of eyes in the room followed his movements.

Now, we're finally getting somewhere, Gates thought to herself as she drew in a long breath and held it before slowly exhaling. I have a feeling the plot is about to thicken. Ugh! Did I just use one of Castle's damned clichés?

"Lockwood did not give up his employer," the agent answered her question at length. "He was hired to do a job. In this case, it was the assassination of John Raglan. We believe the purpose of torturing Detectives Ryan and Esposito was to ascertain how much the NYPD, and Detective Beckett in particular, knew about the Johanna Beckett Case. Normally it would have been safe to assume that, as he was arrested at the scene, he wasn't able to contact his employer to pass on the information he had gathered. Unfortunately, we don't believe that was the case."

She arched her eyebrows. "You believe he passed on his information while he was in jail?"

"Yes, while he was awaiting trial. Although Detective Beckett arranged for him to be kept separate from the general population, Lockwood's outside sources managed to influence a guard to get him transferred out of solitary. As a result, he murdered another inmate, McAllister who was connected to Raglan and Montgomery's crime." The agent stopped pacing and shoved his hands into his pockets. "A short time after that, when Lockwood had his day in court—so to speak—_friends_ managed to extract him from custody. _Inside the courtroom_!"

"That, I heard," Gates commented dryly, her brows furrowing into a scowl. "The entire NYPD heard about it. Hell, I think the entire city heard!"

Commissioner Kelly's face tightened. "It wasn't this city's finest hour."

An understatement if ever there was one, she thought ruefully but successfully managed to keep her pert opinion to herself.

"No," The federal agent agreed monosyllabically then picked up the thread of his account, "At that point, not only did Detective Beckett and her team become targets, but Roy Montgomery as well. Although we weren't aware of it at the time, Captain Montgomery had previously secured a deal with the man responsible for Johanna Beckett's murder. In exchange for not digging into the case further, Detective Beckett's life would be spared."

Unable to mask her consternation, Gates' mouth hung open. "Does Beckett know about this? Because I am here to tell you, she isn't the kind of woman to appreciate men—no matter how close she is to them—making deals with her life. It isn't in her character or nature. And I don't blame her. Should she be looking into her mother's case? No. Hell, no! But to have someone do that . . ."

One of the other FBI men leaned forward. His face pale, his eyes shadowed, he looked very much like a man who hadn't had much sleep in at least the last two years. "To our knowledge, Detective Beckett doesn't know about the arrangement. How could she? Montgomery set it up. When Lockwood escaped custody he took measures to insure the deal would remain in place. We aren't sure about the connection between them, but Montgomery mailed all of the information he had on the man to someone he trusted, someone he felt sure could adequately blackmail this man into letting Beckett live."

"You must be joking," she scoffed but quickly fell silent when, judging the expressions of every other person in the room, she realized they weren't. Silence descended in the conference room as she shifted uneasily in her seat once again.

"I assure you, Captain Gates, no one in this room considers this a laughing matter," the woman in the black pantsuit informed her crisply. The chill in her tone was cold enough to make a polar bear shiver. "I suggest you take it as seriously as we do."

"Sorry," she murmured, her eyes falling to her hands now in her lap.

"All of this came to us belatedly," the second federal agent informed her. "Truthfully, we are running an open investigation on a particular congressman who chairs a very important committee essential to our national security. I'm not at liberty to give you a name as that could potentially handicap our case, but I can tell you that this man is tied to the deal concerning Detective Beckett."

"I don't underst—"

"Shortly after Detective Beckett was shot in May, we believe Montgomery's friend received the package of evidence and instructions to protect her. Sadly, it was too little, too late for Detective Beckett, but seeing as she survived the assassination attempt, Montgomery's friend felt duty-bound to carry out his late friend's wishes. So he placed a call to the Congressional Offices in Washington."

The first agent, the one who had been pacing, resumed both his walking and the rest of the briefing. "Again, due to the fact this is still an open investigation we can't give you specific details, but let's suffice it to say we have been monitoring the activities going on in this man's office for a while. When the call came in from Montgomery's friend—who, by the way, identified himself as 'Mr. Smith'—we learned about our suspect's criminal past. Normally this information would have been enough for us to move forward with a warrant, but as all of the evidence is tied up with Mr. Smith . . . You can see why we hit a roadblock."

Gates looked up at him as she processed this new wave of information. The uneasy feeling of apprehension returned, knotting her stomach and making her feel sick. This is the entire reason why I chose to go into law enforcement rather than government bureaucracy. If they were aware of the threat against Detective Beckett back in the fall and did _nothing_ to protect her simply to build their case against whoever the hell this man is they will get nothing out of me. Her mouth tightened as her iron resolve strengthened. I may not like Richard Castle hanging around my precinct, distracting my people, but at least he has earned my respect. And as for Detective Beckett, it will be a cold day in hell before I agree to bring her back as some sort of pawn in a game of politics!

Across the table Charlie Campisi, Chief Pulaski and Commissioner Kelly were watching her warring expressions in silence. Although they were sitting at the same table with the FBI and (although the woman in the black pantsuit had never said as much) the CIA, they felt the same way Captain Gates did. That one of their own was assassinated was bad enough. But to have another of their own—one of their best and brightest—gunned down at a police funeral was worse. The greatest insult of all was that the FBI coldly refused to share information with them, which was tantamount to sending their people into a battle blindfolded. Obviously whoever this congressman was, he had plenty of resources and money at his disposal.

If the agent speaking had any idea of the undercurrent running at the conference table he didn't show it. Keeping his voice even and his countenance calm, he came to stand beside Gates. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said softly, "Believe me when I say, if we had known our suspect had no intention of honoring the agreement to spare Detective Beckett's life, we would have intervened."

It was a lie which fooled no one in the room. Megan McIverson turned her stony gray eyes on him and he actually winced.

Gates, on the other hand, was just incensed enough to be blunt. "I don't think so." Unleashing her full fury at the man, she said coldly and succinctly, "I think we all know what you government boys would do. It's what you _always _do. You believe building a case against your man is the ultimate goal. It doesn't matter to you that one detective in New York is at risk. In fact, if she _had_ died, it would solidify your case! That's not how things work in the NYPD. Yes, I know we get a lot of flak for our 'Blue Shield,' but in situations like this, I thank God we have it in place! It isn't your right to decide whose life is more valuable!"

"Captain Gates." Commissioner Kelly's reminder to keep her opinions in check successfully brought her tirade to an abrupt end.

She shut her mouth, but her dark eyes continued to smolder. Not bothering to apologize this time, she merely lifted her chin and directed a pointed glare at the agent's hand still on her shoulder. He dropped it immediately and hastily retreated back to his seat.

His counterpart, the second agent, leaned forward again and said, "I understand why you're upset, Captain. Believe me, this business leaves everyone cold. But the simple truth of the matter is our case against this man _is_ more important than one detective's search for justice. I want to make something clear though: we _did not know_ about this situation until _after_ Detective Beckett's shooting. _After_," he stressed again, his troubled eyes seeking hers.

Although she was still tensed and ready to spring, Gates forced her facial muscles to relax.

"Now," he continued matter-of-factly, "with this burglary at Montgomery's house and the subsequent homicide of the man responsible, we believe our man once again hired a an ex-military-trained mercenary to obtain the evidence he believed was still in Montgomery's home office. By outsourcing the actual B&E to a low-level ex-gang member—who, according to your report, was _also _ex-military—the merc was able to operate under the radar."

"That's correct," Gates managed through tight lips. Then, deciding it was in her best interest to be slightly more forthcoming, she elaborated, "My detectives found traces of DNA under the fingernails of their victim. It was a match to the DNA found on the weapon used in Detective Beckett's shooting. Once they found the link, however, my team decided to run the investigation without keeping me in the loop." Her voice cooled further and there was a subtle hint of bitterness in her tone. "By the time Detective Ryan briefed me, Detectives Beckett and Esposito had identified the shooter as a man using the alias 'Cole Maddox' and were en route to take him into custody without calling for proper backup. My assumption," she paused as her eyes flicked over to Charlie Campisi, "was that Detective Beckett intended to take this man down on her own and that Detective Esposito was unwilling for her to do that without some sort of backup."

Chief Pulaski held up a hand. "If you don't mind, just for clarification, could you tell us if Richard Castle was present during this altercation with Maddox?"

"He was not," she answered stiffly, her posture straightening. "I'm not sure _how_ involved Mr. Castle was with this particular investigation, though if I were a wagering person, I would say he was up to his eyeballs in it."

Through her mind flashed the memory of the first time she had met the famous novelist. He had been in the station, occupying one of her conference rooms, pouring over the case report on Beckett's shooting. He had seemed pleasant enough, but she had sensed right away that he wasn't to be trusted. There was something in his manner, a kind of secretive distrust she had found off-putting. However, her decidedly low opinion of him was confirmed the moment he had tried to pour on the charm.

As though trying to exorcise the phantom memory of a bad dream, she shook her head to clear it. "Like I said, I can't tell you how involved he was—or _is_. Mr. Castle is one of the most manipulative—" she cut her eyes to McIverson and sweetened her voice as she clarified, "and I mean that in the nicest way—and _resourceful_ men I have ever met. But I can say for certain he was not in the precinct at all that day. And I know for a fact he did not accompany Detectives Beckett or Esposito to that hotel."

Another lengthy silence fell in the room during which time the FBI agents huddled together, whispering in hushed tones. Commissioner Kelly leaned over to confer with Chief Pulaski, while Megan McIverson began furiously writing on her notepad. Roger Stahl, who still hadn't offered anything in the way of conversation or information, leaned his head against the back of his chair and steepled his fingertips. Internal Affairs director Charlie Campisi pushed his chair back and stood to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and moving his neck from side to side.

Only the woman in the black pantsuit seemed uninterested in conversation or stretching. Instead, she occupied her time studying Gates. Aware that she was the object of intense scrutiny, she attempted to make herself as unreadable as possible even as she met the other woman's gaze. Her success was only minimal. Perhaps it was intuition or discernment, perhaps it was that nagging feeling of apprehension, but Gates knew instinctively she was outmatched in a staring contest with a woman who would never blink. For the first time in her career she knew she was looking at a woman far better trained, far more intelligent, than she. The knowledge unsettled her, forcing her to drop her eyes and look away.

As the quiet in the room became more pronounced Gates had to resist the urge to shatter the awkward silence. Don't speak, she cautioned herself, trying desperately to maintain her composure. Fortunately her stalwart iron resolve remained resolute. She crossed her arms and waited. After all, this was their meeting, not hers.

The wait wasn't a long one. As soon as the FBI group broke apart, Commissioner Kelly pulled away from Chief Pulaski and indicated he was ready to proceed. With the briefest of nods, the SAS (Special Agent in Charge) cleared his throat.

Hesitating only long enough for Charlie Campisi to retake his seat, he forced a tired smile and opened with a question. "Do you keep up with politics, Captain Gates?"

"To some extent, yes," she answered truthfully. "Why?"

He chuckled softly to himself. "I suppose we're _all_ interested in seeing how one particular election plays out in November, aren't we?" Shaking his head, he sobered and came to his point. "The congressman is up for reelection this year. I know it may seem like a strange conspiracy theory to you, but the truth is he's desperate to maintain his office. After all of these years he has finally risen to the kind of powerful position he's always craved. As chairman of one of the most important committees for our national defense, he has at his disposal all sorts of reports on privatized military companies and contacts for ex-military mercenaries like Hal Lockwood and Cole Maddox. And believe me, Captain. This man will not hesitate to call upon their service to get what he wants." He paused for the space of a quick-drawn breath before adding, "And what he wants is to occupy the White House in four years' time."

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure you aren't caught up in one of Mr. Castle's wildly imaginative plots, Mr.—? What _do_ I call you?" Her voice sweetened, coloring her implied criticism of his lack of professionalism.

He had the grace to color. "My apologies. I should have introduced myself and my colleagues. I'm SAS Weaver." Indicating the agent to his left, he said, "Special Agent Françour." Sweeping his hand to his right, he introduced the other agent who had previously offered information in the meeting. "This is Special Agent Johnson."

"Gentlemen," she acknowledged with a nod. Then, turning her head to look at the woman in the black pantsuit, she smiled ruthlessly, as though to say, "You're next." The woman returned her smile with a lethal one of her own, and again Gates had the uneasy feeling she was outmatched.

"As I was saying," SAS Weaver continued, his voice roughened by annoyance, "our congressman is desperate since his reelection is no sure thing. With that phone call from Mr. Smith back in the fall, we started to see a larger picture taking shape. As a precautionary measure, we took the liberty of tracing the call. Since that time we have had," he paused long enough to meet Megan McIverson's eyes then went on, "a _legal_ wiretap on Mr. Smith's office and his home."

It took every ounce of control Gates possessed not to bug her eyes. It wasn't that she was surprised the FBI had gone to such measures. After all, that's what they did. A line of dialogue from a John Grisham book flashed through her mind: "Why not? No crime. You're the FBI, remember. You boys run more wire than AT&T." Her serious brown eyes flared with barely suppressed amusement and she smiled inwardly. Outwardly, however, she was all business.

"I take it you recently overheard something that bothers you?" she ventured after a momentary silence.

SAS Weaver sighed. "Actually, yes and no. We _did_ hear something recently and it _did_ concern us, yes. But before I get to that you need to know about the chatter we picked up this past fall."

Commissioner Kelly's face took on a grim expression as he leaned forward. Beside him Chief Pulaski looked ill at ease, as though the information Weaver was about to reveal made him sick to his stomach. Even Megan McIverson was looking troubled. Roger Stahl looked interested and engaged, as though this part of the meeting actually mattered to him.

"Last fall," Weaver picked up, "we overheard Mr. Smith place a phone call to another person of interest, a person we weren't aware was involved in the matter."

Gates had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who he meant. A moment later her worst fears were confirmed.

"Richard Castle was on the other end of that line. We only have one side of that conversation, but I can assure you it was enough to know beyond doubt Mr. Castle has been informed of the danger Detective Beckett is in. He has been informed about the deal Captain Montgomery made and cautioned that if Detective Beckett continues to dig into her mother's case, Mr. Smith would be unable to protect her."

Gates drew in her breath, not bothering to check her stunned surprise. It was as if all the missing pieces to a jigsaw puzzle she had been trying unsuccessfully to solve for months suddenly fell into place. They had all been there the entire time, but too many of them had been turned over, flipped around, rotated so that she couldn't properly fit them into place. She hadn't been able to understand why Castle insisted on hanging around Detective Beckett, to the point of going all the way to the mayor to make sure he was still allowed in the precinct, but now she did. He had put himself there to ensure her safety. One by one she turned over the remaining pieces, each one sliding perfectly into place. Richard Castle, for all of his ridiculous theories, annoying connections, and cavalier attitude, was a genuinely good man who wanted nothing more than to protect his partner. She had indeed misjudged him.

Weaver, aware she had momentarily left him to pursue her own thoughts, cleared his throat again. When she glanced back at him, he forced a smile and resumed his account. "I don't need to tell you what a serious complication that was. It was one thing for us to monitor Mr. Smith. After all, he _did_ blackmail a U.S. congressman. But our hands have been tied with Mr. Castle. We're still not sure how much he knows about the details of the Johanna Beckett case, or if he knows our man is responsible. But what he _does_ know puts him in very real danger."

"I can see that," Gates commented quietly, no trace of sarcasm or irony in her voice.

"His danger may be growing worse," Agent Johnson spoke up, taking over for his supervisor. "Friday evening we overheard another half-conversation we believe Mr. Smith held with Mr. Castle. From Mr. Smith's responses we were able to gather that Mr. Castle no longer believes he can keep Detective Beckett from pursuing the case and, in particular, Maddox. Although we don't know for certain, we believe Mr. Smith removed the files from his office and transferred them somewhere he felt they would be safe."

Gates looked over at her superior officers and noted they looked as bad as she felt. So Castle really did take himself off the case, she realized. But why? Why did he suddenly give up trying to protect Beckett? There's more to the story than this. Her brows drew together as an impossible thought crossed her mind. Was I right? Are Castle and Beckett more than partners? More than writer and muse?

She didn't have time to pursue the thought, as Agent Johnson pressed on in a world-weary tone, "We're not sure how, but this weekend while Cole Maddox was busy trying to recover Montgomery's files, he somehow managed to learn they had been sent for safekeeping to Mr. Smith. This past Saturday we overheard a conversation in Mr. Smith's office between him and an unknown male. We now believe Maddox was that other voice."

As the agent trailed off, the woman in the black pantsuit pushed her chair away from the conference table and moved to stand in front of the large window which looked out over the city. Every eye in the room was on her, every person holding his or her breath, waiting to see what she was going to say or do. For a long minute she stood perfectly still, as though drawing strength from the surrounding buildings and the streets teeming with people. Then she turned back to the room, her face carefully composed into an expression of wistful regret. Her eyes met and held each individual's gaze, moving from one to the next as she made sure she had every person's full attention. When she finally settled on Gates she started to speak.

"As of right now Captain, Mr. Smith is missing." Her words and their meaning had the effect of a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. "I think it is safe to say he is presumed dead. My people have listened to the tape the FBI provided us. Right now it doesn't look as though either Maddox or his employer know of Mr. Castle's involvement. Due to reasons I am not at liberty to discuss, Mr. Castle's safety is a priority for us."

Gates nodded dumbly, unsure what, if anything, she should say to that. After all, it was the NYPD's job to make sure the citizens of their city were protected. That went without saying. But she personally was in charge of only one precinct—a small handful of homicide detectives, a squad of vice and narcotics cops and a variety of uniforms. Technically Richard Castle's protection fell under someone else's purview. Her people would only become involved if he turned up dead.

"Captain Gates, do you have any information that can help us map together how Maddox was able to learn Mr. Smith's identity and whereabouts?" Chief Pulaski asked the question with such gravity it took her a moment to catch up.

"I'm sorry?" she whispered, still trying to recover. "Do I have any infor—" she paused as something from Ryan's report filtered through her mind. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. When Detectives Beckett and Esposito executed the search of Maddox's temporary quarters, they were able to recover Montgomery's stolen property." She frowned as she tried hard to remember the detail that had stuck out to her in the report. "Among the items recovered was Captain Montgomery's wedding album."

"Damn it!" SAS Weaver chorused with the woman in the black pantsuit. They both looked at each other then back at Gates.

"What else?" the woman demanded, her light blue eyes hardening to steel bits.

Back in command of her facts, she answered, "His laptop was also there. Montgomery's contact list was on the screen when we entered the room."

"We?" Campisi asked, his thick eyebrows raised in a horizontal question mark.

She sighed. "Yes. Detective Ryan came to me shortly after Detectives Beckett and Esposito left the precinct. He filled me in on the details of the case. I accompanied him to the location and was on the rooftop when he saved Detective Beckett's life." Her expression soured as she remembered the scene. She was still unsure which detail made her the maddest: Beckett and Esposito deliberately keeping her out of the loop, Beckett pursuing a personal vendetta against her shooter when she had no business on the case, the lack of foresight on either detective's part to wait for backup before confronting Maddox, or Beckett's only response to her rescue being to repeat Castle's name over and over. You'd think, she mused to herself, her mouth tightening, that she would have at least had the presence of mind to thank Ryan for saving her life!

"Captain?" It was SAS Weaver, concern written all over his face. "Did you remember something else?"

She nodded. "One of the pictures from the wedding album was pulled out. That's really all I can tell you." Her eyes moved from his face to Chief Pulaski's. "Sir," she addressed him, "I know, in light of this meeting, this case is probably not going to go to trial. With Maddox in the wind, our case will go cold. I can't, in good conscience, allow my people to endanger themselves investigating his death. What do you want me to do?"

"Bury it," the woman in the black pantsuit said matter-of-factly.

"With all due respect," she began in response, whipping her head around to meet the other woman's eyes, "I wasn't asking you."

"No," Commissioner Kelly spoke up, "We aren't going to bury the case. Whoever you assign it to—I'm assuming you aren't leaving Detective Ryan in charge of the investigation?"

She shook her head. "No."

He nodded. "Whoever you assign it to can have a go at it. They won't have any of this information at their disposal, and as far as I can see, should be in no real danger from," he paused to look over at the FBI before finishing, "our mystery congressman."

She looked dubious. "If you say so."

"I don't have to remind you that cases which fail to produce leads after a certain amount of time get shelved anyway. I'm not suggesting you relegate this case to the backburner, but if other cases with leads come along, sometimes these things happen."

Their eyes connected again and she could read the undercurrent in them. He doesn't like this any more than I do, she realized, storing that bit of information away in her mental file. So why is he going along with the FBI and . . . Suddenly she had a burning question she needed answered.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Her eyes scanned the room, lighting on Campisi's face momentarily before finally settling once again on the slender blonde's. "Why bring me into the loop at all?"

Chief Pulaski released a long sigh. "Because, Captain Gates, we—all of us—need your help. Roger Stahl here heads up our OCTF. If half of the information we've received from the FBI is accurate," he said, cutting his eyes over to SAS Weaver for effect, "Roger will be able to trace the congressman's involvement with the drug and human trafficking trade back to the first incident in that alleyway. Each drug dealer, each gang member arrested and indicted brings Organized Crime to its knees. I'm not talking about stopping the Irish mafia or the Russians. I'm talking about bringing down the man who rules them all, the man calling the shots for every mob in the city."

Roger Stahl nodded. "That's correct. As of right now, we have a number of leads in the drug trade. The Dick Coonan Case has really opened doors for us." He looked over at the FBI agents and smiled. "Your man really slipped up when he hired Coonan to kill Johanna Beckett. He didn't think the connection through. Now that he's tied to Coonan's international drug market, you should be able to add those charges to the other list you've already compiled."

Weaver nodded. "That's our intention."

Gates frowned, her eyes back on Pulaski. "Okay, I can see why Roger needs someone to stay on top of the investigation. But that doesn't really answer my question, sir. Why do you need me?"

"Because, Captain, we need you to bring back Detective Beckett."

"And you think she'll listen to me? Gentlemen, Katherine Beckett chose to resign from the force after she nearly died in pursuit of this madman Maddox. No matter how good a cop she is—_was_—I don't think she'll ever want to come back."

"That's beside the point," Commissioner Kelly informed her bluntly. "We need you to get her to withdraw her resignation as soon as possible."

She didn't like it, not one bit. Running her right hand through her hair, Gates took in a deep breath and held it. Not only did it bother her that these people wanted Beckett right back in the line of fire before they were even sure they knew the whereabouts of her shooter, it bothered her that they were willing to turn a blind eye to all of her mistakes. It was as if the Commissioner and the Chief of Detectives were purposefully willing to set a precedent for pardoning her actions without so much as a written reprimand.

"Will you at least tell me why?" she asked deliberately keeping her voice even. Now was not the time to be antagonistic.

To her surprise, it was the woman in the black pantsuit who fielded the question. "The 'why' isn't important at this stage, Captain. And your hunch is right: Detective Beckett will very likely stay a target. I know this will probably sound cold and harsh to you, but the cruel truth is this isn't about her."

Gates frowned in confusion. If this isn't about Beckett, then who is this all about?

The woman seemed to read her mind. "If Detective Beckett returns to the NYPD, who do you think is most likely to return with her?"

Richard Castle. A sight-and-sound picture of the writer flashed through her mind. This is all about Richard Castle. What the _hell_ did he get himself into this time!

"Remember Agent Johnson telling you about that one-sided phone call they overheard, the one during which Mr. Smith realized the deal he had arranged was going to fall apart because Mr. Castle was not going to be able to stop Detective Beckett?" She regulated her voice to a soft timbre as she continued, "We believe Mr. Smith mailed or sent or somehow delivered the files in question into Mr. Castle's possession. It's the only lead we have to the evidence right now."

"And we need that evidence," SAS Weaver interjected. "Without it, this man gets away with so much more than just the murder of a humble, hard-working lawyer. But lest you think us only interested in our case against this man, let me remind you that Mr. Castle will be safest under your watchful eye. If he spends his time shadowing Detective Beckett on cases as he has over the last four—"

"Three and a half," Megan McIverson interrupted sweetly.

He sighed, smiled inanely, then repeated, "Over the last _three and a half_ years, anyone watching his movements will be assured he knows nothing about the case. After all, he wasn't involved in the Cole Maddox affair. Wasn't he tied up with his daughter's graduation Saturday? These men have no knowledge of Mr. Castle's connection to Mr. Smith, so . . . ." he trailed off suggestively.

"So you think he'll be safe as long as he sticks to a recognized routine," she finished thoughtfully. "And with Detective Beckett back on the force, Maddox will have a hard time coming after her directly."

"Yes," he replied simply. "Her position, her shield, should protect her. At least until we can get enough evidence to go forward with our case. Once the congressman is brought before a Congressional hearing, Detective Beckett's life should no longer be in danger. This man is no fool; he knows how stupid it would be for him to come after her. Especially as he should now believe she doesn't have a clue about who is responsible for her mother's murder."

"That's a hell of a gamble. You're assuming Maddox and whoever the hell he works for won't target either Detective Beckett or Mr. Castle," Gates snapped, "Who's to say they're willing to take that risk?"

He shook his head. "Trust me, he won't be that dumb."

"More to the point," the slender blonde cut in, "we will make sure both Detective Beckett and Richard Castle are protected."

Gates arched an eyebrow in her direction. "Is that a promise? Are you going on record here saying the CIA will have a 24-7 detail on my people?"

The woman warmed for the first time as a smile dawned in the recesses of her light blue eyes before reaching her lips. Her mouth twitched upwards as a soft, almost musical chuckle escaped. "I'm sorry, Captain. I think you have the wrong impression of me and the people for whom I work. I'm not attached to the CIA." Then abruptly all the levity drained from her face and she said seriously, "My people _will_ protect Katherine Beckett and Richard Castle. It's what we do and I assure you, Captain, we do it _very_ well. Now, what we need from you is for you to get Detective Beckett back on the force. Can you do that?"

"Yes, she can," Charlie Campisi answered for her. Gates shot him a look which he purposefully ignored. "You can depend upon the NYPD's assistance to the last uniform."

"That's settled then," Commissioner Kelly sighed. It could have been in relief. Then turning to the FBI agents and the woman, he said, "I'd like to thank all of you for coming this morning. You've been very upfront and open with us. I'd like to go on the record as stating that the NYPD will do everything in its collective power to assure the course of justice is preserved."

Megan McIverson scribbled furiously, recording word for word what was coming out of the man's mouth, no doubt to make sure it actually _did_ go on the record.

After that people began to leave. Roger Stahl was the first through the door. He'd come as a courtesy, no doubt, and had other places he needed to be. Gates sympathized. If she hadn't been forced to be there she would have been holed up in her office, blissfully ignorant of the reality of political conspiracies. After Stahl departed Chief Pulaski took his leave, escorting the three FBI agents to the elevator. The enigmatic woman in the black pantsuit, who in the end hadn't given much information about herself (or who she worked for), took her time gathering her belongings. It wasn't until Commissioner Kelly and Megan McIverson left together that she vanished as mysteriously as she had come.

That left Gates with her former supervisor, Charlie Campisi. Coming over to stand beside her, he took her hands in his. She looked up, noticed the tender expression in his eyes, and felt herself soften for the first time.

"Why is Commissioner Kelly going along with this?" she asked him, and he could hear the confusion and hurt in her voice.

He shook his head. "I don't know, Vicky," he answered honestly. "I really don't know. But what I do know is that this man the FBI has in their sights _must_ be brought down. A man like that, who has our nation's safety in the palm of his hand, cannot be allowed to hold office. I know this probably won't help at all, but think of it this way: at the end of the day this is a large-scale, multi-departmental Internal Affairs investigation. We're bringing this man down from the inside out."

She smiled then and for the first time, it wasn't forced. Her brown eyes melted a little as she considered him. "You know where my goat is tied, don't you, Charlie. Okay. You've convinced me. But I want you to do me a favor."

"Name it."

"I want Beckett and Esposito's actions documented in their personnel files. Beckett may be coming back but she won't be returning without repercussions."

He laughed softly. "Damn it, Vicky! You're sticking to your nickname, aren't you? That iron resolve of yours is as strong as ever. And here I was, thinking your heart was actually made of malleable metal."

She smiled in appreciation. "If you promise not to tell anyone I'll let you in on a secret."

"You have my word," he said, dropping her hands and walking beside her as they headed toward the door.

She met his eyes and smiled again. "I'm privately looking forward to having Detective Beckett back where she belongs. She's a wonderful leader and investigator, and I like her personally."

He feigned surprise as he held the door open for her. "I don't believe it! Iron Gates actually _likes_ someone!"

She punched his arm. "I like _you_, Charlie. I always have."

"And what about Richard Castle? Are you as eager to have him back underfoot?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'd just as soon spend an afternoon reading one of his little books."

He shrugged his response. "There are worse things in this world."

Ten minutes later she was alone again, safely behind the closed door to her office. Allowing herself to at last give in to her emotions, she folded her arms on her desk and bowed her head. There was so much to process and so little time. The bulk of what she had been told would have to be reviewed and analyzed later. In the meantime she had one job to do.

Picking up the phone on the desk, she punched in Katherine Beckett's cellphone number and waited for the connection to go through.

* * *

**So, what are your thoughts? Did the conspiracy make sense? Will Gates be successful? Will Beckett come back to the 12th to protect Castle? Sound off!**


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